


Interval

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, PWP, Slice of Life, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22824655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: For as much as he loved words, more often than not, Aziraphale couldn’t trust himself to speak them. Especially not in moments like this.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 72





	Interval

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adrezarach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrezarach/gifts).



> This is a belated birthday present to Ekat. Sorry I couldn't post on your actual bday, hope you enjoy.
> 
> This is a bit out of my comfort zone, I usually only hint at smut so hopefully this is alright.

For as much as he loved words, more often than not, Aziraphale couldn’t trust himself to speak them. Especially not in moments like this, where he was drifting in a cloud of emotions, tongue thick and heavy behind swollen lips. So the angel decided to keep his mouth shut. He made no attempt to open his eyes. It felt like too much effort. 

The bed beneath him was black and soft, dipping behind his swells gently, and cradling him in a gentle embrace that would have been fantastic without any of his other embraces. The blanket was bunched below his knees, though Aziraphale had a small patch of it trailing up his front to clutch at, though the cool air was just the right contrast to his heated back to make him shiver in the most delicious way. 

There were bruises all along his hips and thighs, and a few on his arm arms. He imagined pressing them hard, covering the spots with his smaller fingers. The pain would hit him harder, with his strength, but it would be barely a momentary pleasure before he would feel empty again because his own fingers were not the right shape to cause that hitch in his breath, that throb in his stomach. 

A warm tongue was slowly moving over marks on his neck. Aziraphale shivered again, barely holding still as the forked tips flickered, wet heat against the dry, red skin. Firm lips soon follow, mouthing over the bites that cover his neck. Some are old, some are not. The newest one is shiny and purple, so deep and clear that one can see each tooth that participated in the festivities. They match a flurry of marks over his chest and stomach. Aziraphale knows how they look on his body, loves how they look, how they feel, a loving gift that keeps on giving. He’s gotten good at determining when they will fade based on the sensation of their creation.

The lithe body pressed to his back has no bite marks, of course. Above the curve of the demon’s pert arse, Aziraphale has ensured his own fingertips linger, driven by his need for Crowley to repeat that thrust just right. They are being watched from above by harsh red lines, where Aziraphale’s manicure was ruined by actions while he was being teased out of his mind. 

Not that the recipient of that pain had gotten mad about it. Rather, there had been a guttural groan and a kiss as a reward, loving praise hissed into his ears. The angel wonders how those lines compare to the marks, how it would feel to press on them in order to remember the pleasures, how they would feel under his clothes, if they would make him feel as utterly claimed, if the thoughts of them hidden beneath the fabric while out in public would fuel his secret smile, cause him to fight down a blush when the long fingers responsible for them trailed over them while at dinner. 

Sharp hips pressed against his legs in slow, languid movements, and Aziraphale scooted his whole self closer, eyes closed and mouth falling open only to whimper as a hand grasped him, adjusting him so perfectly. That hand drifted softly down his stomach, his hips, his thighs, and then curved from outside to inside. Aziraphale whined and shifted, letting his lover settle between his legs. 

Crowley’s thrusts were eased with a combination of his own pre-cum, Aziraphale’s own slick, and lube; and the angel could hear their skin kissing, his heart beating in time with his arousal. The demon’s breathing was just shy of harsh as he continued nosing his previous bites. It wouldn’t be long until he would select a spot, biting down hard as his pace picked up, which would cause Aziraphale to combust, to cry out and anchor himself in his lover. After that, Crowley would bring him over the edge at least once more before losing his own control, burying his face in Aziraphale’s nape and leaving sweet kisses there as they came down. 

They would leave the mess, the angel thought as he neared his peak, one of Crowley’s fingers squeezing his nipple while the other stroked wherever he pleased.

Afterall, this was only an intermission.


End file.
